Pronouns
by UltraM2000
Summary: (REVISED) To be very brief, why there are three 'ore' and one 'boku' in the Sanzo-ikkou. Please r&r!


**Disclaimer: **If Sanzo is grumpy, Gojyo is wily, Goku is hungry and Hakkai is smiley, then I don't own Saiyuki. Revised to be more in character, and revised AGAIN after finding spelling mistakes. I'm just not going to ask why a rampant spell check seems to have been run on my poor fiction. 

**Gensoumaden Saiyuki: Pronouns**

_Oi. Ore no koto zutto yondeta no wa omae ka? …(Genjyo Sanzo)  
Ore, Sanzou ni tasukerarete bakka da… (Son Goku)  
Ki ga au nee…Ore mo so nano yo (Sha Gojyo)  
Jitsu wa boku mo dame nan desu…ame no hi wa…(Cho Hakkai) _

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_ Ore wa Genjou Sanzou._

I am Genjyo Sanzo, otherwise known as the pitiful fool who was ordered to stop the revival of Gyuumaou with three other basket cases. I have plenty of other aliases; Kouryuu, worldly monk, blonde monk, blondie, bishounen, biseinen, 'he who doesn't even resemble Hsuan Tang…'

What's a bishounen? Some kind of weapon? A biseinen? And who the HELL is Hsuan Tang?!

They are all surprised that a monk uses the pronoun _ore_, rough and ready as it is. Holy words are expected from a holy monk. Me? Holy? I should be so lucky. I have said, many times before, that the only person who can save you is yourself, for the gods save no one. Yes, the gods save no-one, not even their errand boy; they do not save me from the three stooges, they do not save me from the demons who wish to sample the delicacy that is Sanzo sashimi, they did not save Koumyou Sanzo, as outstanding an individual (and messenger) he must have been to them...

Yes, these so-called benevolent gods did not defend him...and I could not defend him. I could not save him as he saved me.

God damn, it's enough to make me smoke TWO cigarettes at once.

I am not Koumyou Sanzo. I am only his disciple, and his successor. Don't expect _this _Sanzo-_houshi_ to be humble and merciful. Don't expect mellifluous tones and comforting speech, nor archaic honorifics none have use for. I am no saviour and all I preach is _Mu Ichi Motsu_, the Vanity of Vanities, the short and savage homily that was preached to me in its turn by my predecessor. I, like the _Mu Ichi Motsu_, am cunning, swift and cruel; even that cockroach bastard Gojyo says my being a monk is a waste. I am inclined to agree, a surprising enough matter.

You will find I look out only for myself, for I have found my heart is dangerous. This little piece of muscle beating in the recesses of my nicotine-saturated chest is a killer. Anyone it touches is doomed to die. Shunfa. Syuei. Koumyou…

I have long ago locked the others out of my heart. Better for this heart to touch my sins and kill me than for it to touch their demonflesh, cleaner than my own useless body, and snuff them out like fags. Better for me to remain alone and aloof, and hurt no one else rather than cause them more grief by extending my friendship, only a fragile, temporary thing.

Give me that third cigarette.

_Ore..._rough and ready, the masculine pronoun _ore_ has been moulded to my character, or the other way round—both rough and uncaring, teetering on the edge of disrespect and disconcert. Sometimes, though, at night, I look upon the faces of my sleeping comrades as I light another fag, and as I inhale the smoke—the wonderful, soothing, poisonous filth—and chase it down with another can of beer, I wonder how this rag-tag quartet has made it this far without anyone calling it quits. I wonder how I can actually not pull the trigger on that stupid monkey and that perverted demon-hybrid. I wonder how Hakkai pointedly refuses to snap, remove his youryoku limiters and kill us all. Perhaps my heart has opened. Perhaps it is not a killer.

And sometimes, very rarely, I smile a thin, monk-like smile.

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_Ore wa Gojyou. Sa Gojyou._

Well, it worked for James Bond, didn't it? Fact is, I'm a lot more ruggedly handsome than he is and you _know_ it. I am Sha Gojyo, also known in various circles as the kappa and the cockroach. Call it animal magnetism, I guess--unfortunately, it attracted a monkey by mistake.

I do not know why I use the word _ore_. You might as well ask why I _shouldn't_ use it. It's a fairly stock pronoun. It is the sign of a man of action, a man willing to take charge, the men I suppose all women want. When the wine is flowing, when the dice are rolling, when the stakes are high, they know they want that sort of man—a man such as me. They want me! They want the irreverent _ore_, the confident, smooth-talking man who'll go for the gold. I usually get it, too. I can smell blood and sweat, especially the sweat of a cheating opponent, or a man who has rigged the roulette wheel, or a man who has a sucky hand in poker. When the party's over and the glitter's gone, though, they leave me staring at the cards and beer cans, and they go home. Now THAT truly sucks.

Not to digress, but when I think of my luck with the ladies, I occasionally think about my stepmother. She was quite a chick, for a demon. I never knew my birth mother, and stepma hated my guts for one simple reason. Two, actually, no, as many reasons as I have eyes in my head and hairs on my skull. I have been a living sin from day one; that blah-dee-da about how a child born between demon and human is crimson-haired, crimson-eyed, taboo, _kin'ki_. Oo, kinky. I like kinky, but to digress once more, I was _kaasan_'s reminder of her husband's betrayal. Even worse, he'd bedded a pitiful human and got me, the scarlet-haired, scarlet-eyed insult to her womanhood. Least, that's what I think. She snapped one day and slashed my cheek. The scars still itch like crazy at night. She would have gone for my neck had Jien—no, now Dokugakuji—not killed her. First experience with a woman: a failure.

She was probably the first woman I wanted to make happy, and this with all my soul. Even if I had to die, if she'd just stopped crying it would have been fine. That's why I never like to see a babe cry. Brings back too many complex memories on the sidelines.

I had always been strong for her. I had never shed a tear myself since I was old enough to talk. I thought my mother loved Jien more because he was bigger and stronger. If I could project that _bigness_, that strength, perhaps she could find it in her heart to love me too, and the first thing I noticed was that Jien used the word _ore_ to refer to himself amongst his friends. It was worth a try. The word just seemed so correct.

Things have not changed, since then. Women like their men strong and assertive, as a protector. That is probably the one thing I know for certain. Get a load of this, though; all prior experiences with women after _okaasan_: half-hits, all misses.

I realise that back then, I wasn't all that strong. Their words, their compassion, their sweet lips and soft beds helped me make it through another day. It was probably after Hakkai dropped seemingly from the sky that I realised how much of a shell my strength was. Y'know, maybe I'm more mixed up than I think, but I've been thinking. Yes, I think. You got a problem with that? If and when I find a woman who will accept a half-demon, if and when we ever smash Gyuumaou into ground hamburger, maybe I'll stop being that ore. I would be content if I could find that elusive woman, one to whom I would not have to prove myself strong.

I think about this during the few hours during which I'm not gambling/hunting/eating/sleeping/smoking/drinking/fighting. Maybe I'll even stop with the booze and cigarettes too, but they've known me for three years, this mismatched quartet that I'm part of, and they know I never deviate from my dandy persona and smooth talk. They know me as another _ore_, impetuous and bold. I just know they'd flip if any one of them other than Hakkai called himself _boku_, _watashi_ or, gods forbid, _sessha_. You don't know the word? Oh. It's an archaic pronoun. Don't sweat it. If I told them these thoughts they'd all die laughing.

Hey, maybe that's not such a bad idea. No more Sanzou hitting me over the head with his _harisen_. No more Goku stealing my food. No more Hakkai stealing the ladies.

On the other hand, that means I'd have to find Gyuumaou myself.

I could go home.

But to what?

Hmm.

Guess I have to be ore for a while more…hmm, yes…Unless, of course, you know how to get the monk's sutras back, or how to give Gyuumaou a nice big kick in the ass, or maybe you know someone who I can date? How 'bout _you_? You free tomorrow?…

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_ Boku wa Cho Hakkai._

I am Cho Hakkai, but old acquaintances may know me as Gonou, the teacher. Now, the teacher still within says this: the character for the word _boku_ is composed of three radicals. On the left, that which signifies 'human' or 'man'. On the right, two radicals meaning to gather twigs with one's hands, therefore, one who works. One who serves. A humble little pronoun for a humble male individual. It can also be read as the noun _shimobe_, a servant of God...which is, I suppose, what we all got ourselves into on the way West. What I got myself into. Servitude to the god, or rather gods that saved my soul.

Ever considered why a demon-convert, doomed to stigma when that thousandth drop of demon blood touches him, is somehow the sweetest one in the group? You'd think I was still human, wouldn't you? Eyes still green like forest leaves, hair still as brown as the silent earth—nothing has changed on the outside. Inside, however, the blood is badly tainted...more than you will ever know, and more than one ever _should_ know.

It all began on that day some years ago when I came home from my work as a teacher to find my house upturned, everything a mess and Kanan, my Kanan, missing. The smell in the air was that of unwashed demon skin. Cho Gonou saw red, blood-red, and drew from a hidden cupboard a long sword. Although I had no grudge with demons back then (and I still don't now, really), there was only one thing that filled my every neuron: I had to bring Kanan back, and those who dared touch her would regret it forever.

That day was the worst one in my memory. First, I became a killer, taking 999 innocent lives for ripping the one life important to me from my side. Second, when I found Kanan, I was already too late. She had been ravished by the Hundred-Eyed Demon and was carrying his child. Third, she took her life with the knife I had slid as an afterthought into my belt. A grave mistake, as I see it now. Fourth, Chin Isou, son of the demon who had deflowered my Kanan, tried to kill me but only succeeded in near-gutting me and getting his blood on me. Fifth, I turned into a demon and cut him open like a ripe melon.

In the greater spectrum of things, you have to admit it wasn't a pleasant day.

Ever since that fateful night years ago, I have never been the same, physically or mentally. When the nights come, I begin to yearn for the warmth that used to sleep by my side, the warmth that I could count upon to hold my frozen soul. Now, my soul is buried so far from prying eyes that the chill has dulled to a mere film of ice, but my, it is and always has been a long-lasting cold.

I have lived only three years with this mark upon my abdomen, the wound that reminds me of what Cho Hakkai truly is, and I am not used to this wilder, demon side of my psyche coming out and tearing throats into Caesar salad, much like how the demons tore my soul and Kanan's apart. I never want to do that to anyone, even if it is another demon. No, not if I can help it. Hence, I try to subdue my demonic side. I try to act more human than human. I am the one who never gets angry, for if I do, I fear the _youkai_ will only become stronger. I try to be polite and smiling, hoping as long as you look at my smile and my eyes, you won't see the three shiny limiters I pried from the cold fingers of a dead demon to keep my own monsters in check, or the monocle lens that hides the eye torn apart. I do not use the rougher pronoun of _ore_ for the same reasons. I want to remind myself that Hakkai is not all that bad, that _boku_ is not a demon until I decide I must become one to save the rest of my companions. Such is the control I have tried to exercise over it that when it does unleash itself, it obeys my commands far better than expected. Just ask Goku or Gojyo. No, I wouldn't recommend Sanzo. He'd never admit to giving anybody credit. His nature is that of denial.

Sometimes, though, after a fight, I manage to find it in my heart to silently thank the demon Cho Gonou. He is the one who strengthens my blows. He is the one who sharpens the _ki_. He is the one who has the heart that yearns to protect all around him, for he never wants to lose another. Oh dear, I am a living contradiction, aren't I—a friendly demon, an unhappy convert who is yet somewhat proud of the strength blood has bestowed, a smiling sorrow, a lonely friend. Still, there must be some balance to this quartet, or our journey would be nothing more than a bloody trail of yoke and human guts all the way to Tenjiku. No, I think I'll save the blood and guts for when we get there.

Maybe I'm proud to be a demon, one of the few who haven't been affected by Tenjiku's negative wave motion, but I intend to be an unassuming one. The one who you would feel at ease with, the one who you would never suspect of having a blood-saturated past, the demon who cries for his lost humanity, the human who calls for a lover long lost...

Yes. That's one of my reasons. Maybe the truest. I will always be Kanan's humble love. I will always be her _boku,_ until we meet again. I am, and always will be a servant to her sweet memory.

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_ Ore wa Son Goku._

I'm Son Goku...and I'm hungry. It's expected, I mean, you'd be hungry if you didn't eat anything for 500 years.

Why do I call myself _ore_? I don't know. Lemme think. Well, Gojyo calls himself that. Sanzo does too. Hakkai doesn't, but that's only because he's so nice. Hakkai is the balance in our group, because the others are more short-tempered than…something short-tempered. Sanzo hits me and stomps on me all the time. Gojyo keeps teasing me, which encourages me to return the favor. This usually goes on until Sanzo shoots with his _shoureijuu_ or hits out with the harisen. See? We're a really rowdy bunch.

500 years in Mount Gogyou wasn't fun. I remember, faintly, the bird that used to come and visit me. He was a living piece of the sun, that _kotori_. Little bird. That's what I named him. He was so tame, he used to sit on my fingers and sing to me. Sometimes his claws cut me, but I didn't mind. Kotori was my friend.

It was then, one night, that it started raining. Kotori flew in to keep dry, and I hugged him close to me as I slept. He struggled for a while, but soon settled down, or so I thought. That night, the rain whipped him out of my hands as I slept, the little bird I had strangled in my ardent affection, and flung him outside my granite bars. When I woke, I tried to reach for him, but he was just out of my range. I screamed with rage, hitting my head against the bars time and time again, and burst into tears. My only friend was gone.

The only one I had loved was dead. _Again,_ something inside told me. After that, I vowed I would never love so hard I could hurt someone. But I must have done something wrong, because some years after that—oh, I don't know, a couple of hundred, I think—this man starts climbing up Mount Gogyou towards me. He is blonde, and his shortish hair shines like the sun. His eyes are misted purple like the amethyst crystals in the cave here and there, my only source of amusement as I watch the light shine in their dull, frozen depths. He seems familiar somehow, like I know him from a long time ago...

"Hey, you. Are you the one who's been calling me all this time?" he snapped at me.

"Huh? _Ore_…I haven't been calling anybody. Who're you?" He seemed so familiar, so why couldn't I recognise him? Eyes of brilliant gentian depths, hair like the sun that never reached the cave except in small, weak rays…who was he?

_ Kon_

"You lie. Your voice has been audible to me all this while. It's really noisy, so quit it already."

I stared at him stupidly. "Come," further said the man like the sun, reaching out his hand to mine with an impatient sigh, though I might have imagined it. "I'll take you with me—I don't seem to have any other choice." I reached out to him tentatively through the bars, and my chains melted like the sun had frizzled them away.

That was how I met Sanzo. It was the first day that I can truly remember being free. The first day that the sun didn't warm my skin in stripes.

One thing about being in a cave for 500 years—it gives you lots of time to sleep. I love my food, and I _love_ my sleep, but occasionally 500 years of sleeping catches up with me and I get insomnia. So I walk around to check on everyone. They think the silly _saru_ is asleep. They never suspect.

Sometimes I see Sanzo looking out the window, his cigarette smoke a delicate silver curl in the still air. Or if it's raining, he'll probably be drinking tea. It's not the green tea Hakkai likes. It's amber-coloured, and it comes in a pretty glass bottle. I tried some once, but it burned my throat. Sanzo must drink STRONG tea.

Sometimes I see Gojyo toying idly with his fine, crimson hair if he can't sleep or if he hasn't got a girl to keep him company. He hums, sometimes, softly and tunelessly. Gojyo can't even hum to save his _kappa_ life, but he doesn't seem to mind. It seems to make him happy. Or he plays cards with Hakkai, losing game after game and not seeming to mind a bit.

Sometimes I see Hakkai tracing the lines of his palm over and over and over, and occasionally sighing. It is the only time I hear him sigh sadly and not out of exasperation at our antics. Oh, if it's raining, he'll either be up playing poker with Gojyo, or asleep with the pillow over his head.

Rain is shiny upon the windowpane. Rain has the fresh smell of earth and life, but the only thing rain means for me now is most everyone is sad, and I don't like that. I can't see the sun I so love, either, and I like that even less!

I used to be an _ore_ because it was the only thing I knew to call myself. It was a memory I did _not_ lose from the past. Now I am an _ore_ because whether they know it or not, I am their secret keeper. I know their pasts, I know their vulnerabilities, and I could kill them. But why would I? They feed me, clothe me, take care of me. Hakkai and Gojyo are like big brothers to me...Gojyo supplies most of the teasing, though. Sanzo? What is Sanzo? Sanzo is my sun. Sanzo is my light. That's all there is to it. Life's simple like that.

I am an _ore_ because I am tough on their behalf. I won't let them down. I'll try.

But I'm still hungry.

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_ Kyuuuuu! Kyuu kyuu._

"Sanzooooo…I'm hunnnnnnngrrrryyyyyyy…"

"Shut up!" _The crisp smack of a paper fan._

"Owww! That hurt!"

"Serves you right, monkey."

"What did you say, cockroach?!"

"BOTH of you, SHUT THE HELL UP!" _The small, barking explosions I have never gotten used to._

"Maa, maa, let's calm down…you'll blow a hole in Hakuryuu's tires…"

_ They're always like that. Fight, fight, fight! Hakuryuu's insides are a mess after Hakkai lets them out. If Hakkai wasn't so nice, Hakuryuu would never let those bozos in._

_ What does Hakuryuu call Hakuryuu? Hakuryuu, of course. Hakuryuu is Hakuryuu's name. Isn't it obvious? Isn't it simple?_

_ I don't see why the others—Sanzou, Gokuu, Gojyou, Hakkai—all call themselves ore or boku. It's not their name. It doesn't show who they are._

_ Does it?_

_ Maybe they know something Hakuryuu doesn't._


End file.
